Home
by Mick Howell
Summary: Arya worked so hard to get home, and then to forget she ever had one in the first place, and here she was now, leaving it almost as soon as she had gotten it back.


ASOIAF

Home

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING!

Summary: Arya worked so hard to get home, and then to forget she ever had one in the first place, and here she was now, leaving it almost as soon as she had gotten it back.

* * *

Progress on the rebuilding of Winterfell was ahead of schedule. There was enough food growing in the glass gardens that there was no worry of anyone starving. And her family…they were better, at least. These thoughts would comfort Arya on her journey to Storm's End.

Still, as she packed away her things, few as they were, she had to fight back tears. A year had passed since the war had ended and everything was getting better, but her heart still hurt when she thought of leaving so soon. It seemed like it had only been a few weeks since she and her siblings reunited at the Wall, and only days since their arrival back at Winterfell. But no, it had been a year since then and much had happened in that time and much was to happen in the future.

Sansa ruled not just one kingdom but three, was raising their littlest brother, two young cousins, and Jeyne's daughter as her own. There were plans on more wards to be brought to Winterfell to be fostered and for suitors to come seeking her hand in marriage when the rebuild was complete.

Bran and Meera planned to return to the Wall, take up residence in one of the other castles along the huge structure along with the Children and wildlings and giants. There were plans of creating a sort of spiritual center there for worship of the Old Gods. Meera had even begun recruiting knights and wildlings to serve as a guard for Bran, as well as put together a household of servants. Arya suspected she kept herself so busy to distract from the recent deaths of her brother and father and the destruction of her home in the Neck. And Bran seemed to always have his head in the clouds lately and spent more time in the Gods woods than the direwolves.

Rickon was wilder than ever, but was settling back into life at Winterfell and enjoyed the company of his sicklier cousin Sweetrobin, who'd return to the Vale in a few years (if he lived that long, Arya thought but never said aloud, especially in Sansa's presence). There was talk of betrothing the two to some Ladies in the South to strengthen political ties. Arianne of Dorne was particularly eager to put one of her bastard cousins in a position of power in one of Sansa's kingdoms. Lady of the Riverlands or the Vale, it didn't matter—little Dorea or little Loreza was destined to leave her southron home for a much less warm place if Sansa agreed to the match.

Jon had been biding his time in going south for a long time. Especially since he became betrothed to some Reach Lord's daughter some moons ago. Her father was a powerful man who had advocated for the Tyrell's to ally with the Targaryens during the final days of the war—he was accredited with the entire Reach's survival in the war and the end of the Ironborns' plundering of their shores. For his labors, he was being rewarded the "honor", as Daenerys put it, of having his grandchildren carry the blood of the dragon.

Jon, however, did not find the prospect of marrying a girl no older than Arya all that appealing. Nor did the girl, according to Margeary Tyrell, who had been keeping the girl company in the weeks passed and wrote Sansa religiously on what she was like, from her grandest talents to her greatest faults.

He'd have to journey south eventually, however, and fulfill his duty.

That was why he was going with her—they were going the same way, might as well go together he said when he first announced his intention of joining her and her betrothed on their trip.

At least she'd have her bastards, Arya thought amusedly as she finished her packing and closed the top of her trunk with a heavy thud and a heavy heart. She then collapsed into the furs of her bed and closed her eyes. She didn't wish to fall asleep. She didn't want to spend her last few hours in Winterfell having nightmares about the war or even sweet dreams about the coming spring.

She opened her eyes and smiled when she felt Nymeria hop onto the bed and curl up next to her. Arya turned on her side and began petting her tawny fur, and gave a "Ha!" when Nymeria nudged her cold wet nose against her cheek. She hugged Nymeria close and stared up at the ceiling and listened to the roar of the fire and distant sound of a stupid bull hammering away at a sword in the forge.

Gendry was finishing up all his work before he left. That's what he said when they broke fast together in the forge that morning—well, she broke fast. She coaxed Gendry into taking a few bites from her plate as she sat on a bench watching him go to work on the first of many breastplates, but he insisted he didn't have time. He didn't want Myk, the new and green blacksmith of Winterfell, to be left with too much work. She called him stupid for skipping a meal, but left him to his work and with her leftover food sitting where she had been on the bench.

Arya wondered if he had eaten it, and if so, if it had been enough. She sighed and shook her head at her worrying—Mya wouldn't let her little brother starve. She had probably forced him to set down his hammer and eat some stew before the sun had even been halfway up in the sky. And Arya was sure she'd be able to get him to sit down to dinner by nightfall with little effort.

She was torn suddenly between scoffing and laughing at her own thoughts. She sounded like his Lady wife already. Her mother would be so proud, she thought dryly and she crawled out of bed, followed by Nymeria, and left her chambers for the training yard.

When she got there, she found Rickon and Sweetrobin in the middle of a sword fighting lesson with the new Master of Arms, Rorris.

Rickon was clearly stronger, but he swiped at his cousin wildly and with no finesse. Sweetrobin was clearly weaker, barely able to lift his wooden sword and hold it steadily and move in his heavy padding, but he was more precise than Rickon, amazingly. If only he had a stronger body, Arya thought, and if only Rickon was more tame.

Rorris soon became frustrated with the boys and set Rickon to practice his technique and for Sweetrobin to begin some strength building exercises.

Arya watched the two a few moments longer before crossing the yard to where Mya sat, watching and cheering on the boys along with the Royce woman. She sat beside her future good-sister, who smiled and asked her about her packing. "Well enough. My old Septa must be turning in her grave, however. I didn't take especial care in folding my clothes properly." Mya gave a fake gasp of horror. "The _impropriety!_" She moans and they laugh. Royce leans over and says, "I'm sure she wouldn't have too much to be unhappy with. She did, after all, have a hand in the upbringing of the future Lady of the Stormlands." Arya rolls her eyes. "Yes, but the most unruly Lady they have ever known. She's probably scowling down at me right now, saying I ought to be in a fancy dress and schooling myself on southron manners."

Really, the one who should worry about learning their courtesies and dressing the part was Gendry. The whole reason she was marrying him and going south was to make sure he didn't go and make a mess of things in the Stormlands. He may be a Baratheon in name now, but he was far from a Lord Paramount.

Arya was the one who had the upbringing and the savvy. It was almost like an unspoken rule between them that when they got to Storm's End, she'd do all the ruling behind the scenes while to the public he'd be some figure out of a fairytale—a bastard blacksmith of a warrior King, up-jumped to renegade knight to legitimized Lord Paramount of his ancestral lands—and she'd be his iron-willed wife, shrouded in mystery and myth.

Not that their betrothal was a farce. Arya truly couldn't see herself with any other man but her bull. He was her friend in the darkest of times, and even when he left her and she left him, even when she wanted to forget him, and then never forgive him, he had always been her friend. When she returned with the Dragon Queen, a political hostage to be used to barter with her elder brother and sister, when the Brotherhood met the Queen's army in the Riverlands and made their alliance, she had promised herself that if she saw him again she'd ignore his very existence. If he tried to talk to her, she'd tell him to go away and act as if they had never met before—though deep down she had suspected she might yell at him for his betrayal and hit him or stick him with the pointy end even. She had so many plans and tactic in her mind for how to deal with her former-friend, she was genuinely surprised with herself when upon seeing him, the first familiar face in so long, that she began crying and found herself throwing herself into his arms.

She hadn't truly forgiven him quite yet for a long time, but by the end of the war, she knew she didn't want to leave him again or have him leave her. So when he became Lord Gendry Baratheon, she knew what she would do.

She went to her sister, who arranged the betrothal, and it was decided that when the time felt right—though Arya knew it never would—they'd leave for the Stormlands, which would be on the morrow.

Arya sat with Mya and Royce for a good hour, until the boys were done with their training for the day and Royce told Mya that Sansa must be begging for female company after so many hours in meetings with men. They left Arya in the yard, where she did a little practice herself with Needle until it began getting dark. That was when Gendry came and found her. He teased her about using the blade she had outgrown some time ago, but with a swipe at him that nearly nicked his nose, she shut him up and they laughed.

They headed inside with Nymeria on their heels, and as they did, Arya realized she might never enter that yard again, or speak to Mya and that Royce girl again, or watch Rickon and Sweetrobin spar again. She looked over her shoulder, back at the yard that was now shrouded in shadows and empty of the sounds of clashing wood swords and boys laughing and men barking criticism and praise.

For a moment, a scene from a long time ago flashed before her eyes, and they filled with tears that she barely managed to blink away.

* * *

The next morning, she broke fast with what seemed like everyone in Winterfell. From her family, to their honored guests, to the servants; they all crowded together in the grand hall, filling it with laughter and friendly voices, and making it feel so alive and the air light. Arya ate incredibly slow, wanting to enjoy it as long as it lasted, but too soon everyone else began finishing their meals and leaving to begin their days. Arya quickly finished her food and left as well.

She had until midday, and she planned to use every minute until then giving Winterfell a proper goodbye.

She started, logically, with the people most important to her.

She joined her sister in her morning meeting with her Steward on the matters of Winterfell along with Jon. She was happy simply to sit between them and listen to all the positive and even the negative news about her home. Two maids had to be dismissed for petty theft and a stable boy who had taken ill a week ago had passed away late last night, but the builders reported the reconstruction could be completed as soon as within six moons, and the babes' nurse reported that Vayonia took her first steps that morning towards her favorite toy and Minisa had proudly spoken a complete sentence of "I want Auntie Sansy" in a babyish drawl all last night before she was put to bed. Sansa happily said she would adhere to that request as soon as her schedule permitted. Jon also received a letter from King's Landing, from Samwell Tarly specifically.

It was less than happy news—Aegon, who had been suffering from grayscale for the past year, was not recovering and would die soon most likely unless a miracle occurred. Daenerys was distraught over the impending death of her heir, and requested the spare hurry on his journey south, marry the Reach girl, and procure more heirs with haste.

Jon issued to the Steward to write Daenerys, telling her he would not hasten anything and that he would marry the Reach girl only after he had seen his sister and her betrothed to the Stormlands and married in the sight of a Heart Tree. And considering the girl was only four-and-ten, a whole year Arya's junior, he would not be in any hurry to put a child in her belly.

Arya couldn't help but smile at him as he spoke the words. She didn't particular like Daenerys.

After the meeting, she spent time—or at least tried to—with Bran in the Gods' woods. Nymeria and Summer enjoyed playing together as Arya sat next to her little brother underneath one of the trees. The same tree their father sat under so many years ago with Ice. They sat in silence; Bran looked longingly to the skies and she watched the direwolves wrestle in the dirt. It was when she got up to leave after almost an hour later that Bran said something to her.

"You'll always be a wolf." He spoke, eyes still on the sky, still with a faraway look in them. But he smiled and she returned it.

She was heading towards the training yard when she bumped right into who she was looking for in the hall. Rickon ran right into her, sending them both to the ground. He was followed shortly by Sweetrobin, who was a tad out of breath but beaming. He touched the top of Rickon's head and screamed, "TAG!" Rickon groaned and growled that it wasn't fair because he ran into Arya, but Sweetrobin protested that it was so. Arya settled the dispute by making the two entirely forget the game and instead show her their skills in the training yard.

Of course their skills hadn't improved much since yesterday, but Arya still sat and watched and cheered them on. She was soon joined by Meera Reed, who she exchanged a few words of conversation with when the boys were too busy thwacking each other to notice. Meera spoke highly about a boy from the Riverlands who recently arrived at Winterfell and wished to join Bran's guard. But her sad eyes didn't escape Arya's notice. Arya wondered if her own eyes were that sad.

Near midday, her things were brought down to be prepared for travel, and she found herself sitting in empty chambers, feeling oddly like she still hadn't said a proper goodbye. Then it struck her—the crypts.

And so she found herself standing before a statue whose likeness was that of her father's, one that bore her brother's, and one that resembled her mother, though Arya found that hers seemed far too sinister to be considered an honest depiction. Arya was grateful that she was not standing before empty tombs, but at the same time, bitter that she was standing before them at all.

Her father was no traitor. Her brother was too young. Her mother had endured too much. None of them deserved to die in her eyes and never would, despite their failures. Her father never belonged in that lions' den in the first place, and Robb had simply been trying to uphold his code of honor, and her mother suffered so much—she deserved a happy ending like in a song, not to go down in history as a merciless leader of rebel knights and as a monster of myth used to frighten misbehaved children in the Riverlands.

Arya wondered for a moment if she should say something aloud to them before she took her leave. She never got to say any goodbyes to any of them, and when she was younger that fact pained her, but now she wondered what she would have said even if she had had the chance.

The words came, though…eventually.

"Father…I'd like to thank you for Syrio's lessons. They were…they kept me alive for so long and gave me the will to keep going even when…Thank you, father."

She turned to Robb's statue.

"Robb, I sometimes wish I could have died with you at that awful wedding. I was so close but…the Freys are gone now and we have regained the North and more."

Finally, she turned to her mother's effigy.

"Mother, don't worry. We've finished what you started and avenged our family. Be happy with Father and Brother now."

She took a breath.

"All of you please rest in peace, and hopefully we'll be reunited in the future."

She turned to leave the Crypts then, but stopped after just a few steps. She turned around and said what she felt had to be said, "Goodbye."

* * *

She met everyone just outside the walls of Winterfell where their caravan was preparing for departure. Everyone was hugging Jon and Gendry when she got there, wishing them luck in the south and best wishes for the future. Mya playfully ruffling Gendry's hair when he noticed her and called out to her; everyone's head turned and they smiled and greeted her, asking where she had been.

"Saying goodbye," was all she said. "To who?" Rickon asked curiously, only to hushed by Osha who said it wasn't important. The spear-wife gave Arya a knowing look, and Arya had no doubt she had seen her on her way to the Crypts. Rickon persisted on his question, however, but Arya quickly put it to the back of his mind by warning him that if by the next time she saw him his technique hadn't improved, she'd give him her own lessons with Needle. He laughed and promised that he'd practice hard everyday.

Sweetrobin said he would practice as well, even harder than Rickon, only to be chastised by the new maester not to push himself so much. Sweetrobin paid him no mind and then proceeded to get in a lively debate with Rickon over which one of them would work the hardest. Rorris never looked prouder of them.

The adults laughed at the boys and Arya teased Sansa about what a handful they would be in the years to come. "No worse than you and Bran, little sister." Sansa teased right back. Arya feigned insult. "Why I never!" She gasped, and they laughed like the boys until Sansa pulled Arya into a tight embrace and their laughter died. The sisters held each other close and Arya felt gloom radiating around them. Too soon, Arya thought and she knew her sister thought the same.

It may have been a year since they first hugged like this in what seemed like a thousand_ thousand _years, but it was far too soon for this one to be their last in what was sure to feel like another thousand. It made Arya reluctant to let go; she wanted to stay like this, with her chin resting on her elder sister's shoulder, her nose in her summer-smelling hair, and arms wrapped around her like furs on a cold night.

Behind her, however, she could hear a stupid bull laughing as two little boys asked him excitedly if next time they saw each other if he'd make them swords and armor like the knights of legend. Her stupid promised to do so when they were near men grown, which would surely be what they would be the next time they saw them, but Arya still felt a warmth in her heart for that bull.

She pulled away from her sister and turned to Bran and Meera. Bran sat on top of a horse and Meera stood close by his side. For once in a long while, Bran's eyes were focused and not directed towards the sky. They were on her.

Her little brother wished her a safe journey and all his love, and Meera did the same, and when Arya pulled her close in a hug, she promised to take care of her little brother, too. Arya hugged her tightly and whispered thanks for that.

Mya told her to take care of Gendry and if Edric ever came back around from Essos—despite his vehement refusal at ever returning—to tell him he had a sister up North who'd like to meet him. Royce simply wished her courteous goodbyes and told her she would serve her sister faithfully.

Sansa's Queen's guard—Jaime, Brienne, Sandor, and an older knight from the Riverlands and a younger one from the Vale—gave her deep bows and vowed to protect her family and Winterfell with their lives, and they would always have a degree of loyalty to her, they promised as well. Arya would hope so considering she did spare Jaime and Sandor's lives, though she did not voice that. She simply gave her thanks and wished them farewell.

She then mounted her horse with Gendry's assistance and trotted her over next to Gendry and Jon. The caravan started on its way and soon they'd have to follow, but until then, they waved to their family and friends and the servants who came to wish them goodbye as well, and even the builders up on the walls who happened to have a view of them and waved farewell. When it was their turn to start, their progress was slow at first—agonizingly so. Arya could barely bear to watch how slowly she got farther and farther from the people and the place she had wanted so much to be reunited with.

It was ironic, really.

Arya worked so hard to get home, and then to forget she ever had one in the first place, and here she was now, leaving it almost as soon as she had gotten it back.

Soon, they became figures in the distance that Arya could scarcely recognize if not for their hair and clothes. Then Winterfell itself started growing smaller and smaller. Her neck began to hurt from looking over her shoulder for so long, and she was so distracted that she bumped against Gendry twice by the time her home was nearly out of sight. The third time, Gendry asked if she were alright.

"I'm fine." She replied absently, even as she watched Winterfell begin to disappear. But she wasn't. She felt tears prick her eyes as only the tops of the highest towers became visible, and unlike all those times before, she could not hold back the tears.

Gendry, seeing this, reached over and took one of her hands. She risked turning to face him—though the idea of missing one last glimpse of Winterfell was in the back of her mind—and he smiled sadly at her.

"You can go back. I won't be angry…I would rather have you happy than crying like this, Arya." He said with such worry in his voice and eyes. Arya snorted. Stupid bull, she thought. He would be lost without her—she had to go with him. Someone had to rule the Stormlands!

She had to be with him, she knew, and him with her.

Besides, she thought, looking back over her shoulder. One banner could still be seen flying in the distance, so far away she couldn't even see the direwolf on it. She'd be back again some day when she was old and wrinkled and ready to finally say, "Today."

She watched the last banner disappear over the horizon of the hills, and then turned back around to face the King's Road ahead, her betrothed and her brother at her sides. She wiped away her tears and scoffed, "Stupid Bull. I'm no doe—I'm a She-wolf and don't you forget it!"

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**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this! Please review! **


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